Chapter Eight
“The real lover is the man who can thrill you by kissing your forehead.”
~Marilyn Monroe
Brian bent and kissed Angel on her forehead, holding his lips against her soft, smooth, floral-scented skin then stepped back. “Are ye sure it’s permitted, lass? Shouldn’t ye seek permission or bring a maid with ye?”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him back toward the house, chuckling low in her throat. “I don’t have a maid. We have a housekeeper who comes in once a week, but there are few live-in personal maids in this era. Not like your time, when every castle overflowed with servants to tend your every need, and every woman went about with personal guards or servants.”
He dug in his heels. “I thought ye said ye’d take me to the place ye found me?”
“I will, just let me grab my purse and keys.”
“Ye mean to take that horseless carriage again? I think I’d prefer to walk.”
“It’s too far. I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
What a sassy little thing. Direct and commanding, completely unafraid, while his gut ripped in twisted knots, and his thoughts scattered like chaff from newly harvested grain.
The streets were far quieter this morning than during yesterday’s ride. They passed few vehicles along the road. He found he could relax more and take in the scenery. Lights glowed on tall posts every couple of yards casting eerie shadows, but also allowing him to see with considerable clarity in the pre-dawn hour.
“What did yer Da say caused the lights to glow?”
“Electricity. I’ll help you learn what you need to know. We have a well-stocked library, at home. However, since I’ve already started my fall semester at university, you can accompany me to the campus library. While I attend classes, you’ll have time to learn all about this modern world.”
As they drove through the gray pre-dawn, he wondered if he’d find that portal she drove him toward. Would he disappear into the morning mist as quickly as he’d arrived? He longed for his home, for anything familiar, for his maither’s gentle voice. Yet, after so short a time, reluctance tugged at him as well. How could he leave the sweet, fearless woman who’d rescued him from certain madness, perhaps even death?
Mayhap he could take her with him. What an absurd notion. She’d never agree to such a thing, and it would be wrong to strip her from a life and family she obviously loved. In every regard, her transition to his time would probably be far more difficult than his transition now. Or would it?
After more than an hour traipsing over the trails and carefully scaling the cliff where Angel had first seen him, he kicked at the dirt in frustration. They found nothing; no claymore, no battle scene, no portal to his homeland. Nothing.
Just as the sun sent its first sharp stabs of golden light through the clouds, Angel and Simon slumped against the tree where they had rested after their perilous fall over the hill yesterday. Brian could feel the press of her eyes on his back.
“I’m sorry, Brian. If I could make that magic door open for you, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
He remained silent, unable to respond or even gather his thoughts. Then her cool hand slipped into his and tugged. “Come, let’s go home, and I’ll fix you a hardy breakfast. We neglected to eat, and your stomach’s rumbling like a diesel truck.”
Her touch provided immense comfort even if he failed to comprehend her analogy to his gastronomic complaints. Before he dared consider his actions, he turned and pulled her into an embrace. Startled azure eyes delved deep into his. He tilted his head, cupped her face in his hands and pressed his lips to her forehead. Hesitating only briefly, he moved his mouth to taste her lips. The kiss began with a gentle caress that turned potent and desperate in seconds. Her arms slipped across his chest and around his neck until her fingers threaded through the hair at his nape. She was heaven in his arms, his only solace.
When he touched his tongue to her lips, she opened her mouth without hesitation, and he plundered her depths, reaching, touching, tasting, and losing himself in the primal warmth rushing through his veins. He pushed her against the trunk of the tree and pressed his hard length against her yielding body. His desire for her readily apparent as he stood between her legs, his swollen shaft insistent against her belly. Encouraging soft moans slipped from her mouth. His hands held her waist and then slid up her ribs until he held the outer roundness of her breasts.
He couldn’t say whether they’d stood in a heated embrace for minutes or hours when she gently pushed against his chest and stepped away. She moved up the slope, pulling him behind with no further words between them.
Whatever had caused him to behave in such an ungentlemanly manner? She must think him a savage Highland beast. He had certainly behaved like one. Shame singed him to his toes. Once again, he silently admonished his behavior and vowed to resist his beautiful Angel’s charms.
* * *
Their passionate embrace rattled Angel. How could a kiss to the forehead unhinge her, not to mention the kisses that followed? He wanted her, and she absolutely wanted him. What would her parents say if they’d witnessed that exchange? She didn’t need to ask, it was wrong on so many levels, but she couldn’t deny the powerful attraction that seemed to overcome both of them. He was her hot San Francisco Highlander. Unfortunately, he needed her family’s help and support, so despite the bone-jarring attraction and bizarre circumstances that had thrown them together, she wouldn’t jeopardize his position with her family for anything. She needed to reign it back a notch or two.
Besides, the excitement he elicited had more to do with his appealing animal magnetism. For him, she suspected his need for something solid and familiar drove his passion. She understood this and determined to control her emotions and be the friend and younger sister he needed. Ha! Younger sister indeed!
For the next several days, they went to the cliffs at various times of the day and night. Each time they returned to the house, she answered questions about present day events and technology while he availed her of stories from his past.
They did not repeat the heated kisses and passionate caresses. Definitely, a wise choice because she wouldn’t turn away from him. She wanted to feel his mouth and hands on her again, despite the knowledge that this more sensible behavior served them both. At least that’s what she told herself ad nauseam. The repetition, however, didn’t dilute her desire one iota.
Today she would introduce Brian to her best friend, Char. Although she’d mentioned that a newly arrived emigrant had joined their family, she couldn’t explain why she delayed Brian’s first meeting with Char.
That was a lie. Char sizzled with sensuality and brazenly embraced the women’s movement, free love, and all the other freedoms this new generation of women pursued with abandon. They had both participated in anti-war marches, women’s rights events, and in 1973 and 1974, they joined activists in the “Take Back the Night” marches protesting sexual assault and violence against women.
Where Char eagerly explored her sexuality, Angel had drawn the line at heavy petting. It wasn’t due to prudishness. Certainly not—she was no stranger to the pulse of desire.
Granny and Mother had constantly discussed the changes in women’s freedoms, and the potential consequences of those freedoms until she wanted to shove her fingers in her ears. They urged her to honor her body and remember that she could only give her virginity once. As ridiculous as it sounded, and as laughable as her friends would find their comments, she agreed with them.
Ultimately, her reluctance stemmed from her belief in classic love stories. Despite its maudlin, haunting theme of tragic forbidden love, she’d read and watched Wuthering Heights a dozen times. Recent movies solidly in the same sentimental style included The Way We Were, and Love Story, both with tragically unsatisfactory endings. Add to that list Gone with the Wind, which she watched at least once every year, and—good heavens! Mulling over these favorite storylines brought her up short.
“Why do so many love stories have such tragic and unsatisfying ends?” she muttered to herself. Half a dozen items of clothing hung over the edges of her drawers, several pairs of slacks lay in disarray across the bed and chair.
Her mind returned to romantic musings with a huff from pursed lips as she stared in the mirror. Wearing only a lacy, lavender bra and bikini panties, she turned from side to side and stamped her foot. “Remember, sweetie,” she told her image, “there’s always Jane Austin’s Pride & Prejudice with the devastatingly handsome, though haughty Mr. Darcy, or Sense and Sensibility’s congenially honorable Robert Ferrars. At least those stories provided satisfying love-ever-after endings.”
Char would laugh hysterically at Angel’s ridiculous musings. She finally grabbed a pair of black slacks from the scattered clothing and pulled on a dark periwinkle sweater. One last check in the mirror and she threw up her hands, “Dream on, girl, he won’t even see you once his eyes land on Char.”
Could Brian, a man from a distant romanticized past be her Mr. Darcy? On second consideration, she suspected Mr. Darcy would be too damn tame for her imaginings. Brian’s kisses had turned her upside down. Late at night, when the house quieted, and she imagined him in his bed below her room, she would touch herself and reach spiraling climaxes just by thinking about his mouth and hands on her, his hard length pressed between her thighs. No, a staid, reserved Mr. Darcy definitely failed to spark her interest.
She wanted something more like Romeo and Juliet or Anthony and Cleopatra, only with happy-ever-after endings. A love so powerful that one lifetime could never be enough. Enduring love like the ones she’d witnessed between her parents and grandparents. She wanted one love that would shatter all desire for another, one man who would be a partner in all ways. She wanted a man who rocked her senses and fired her sexual longings with a simple glance. She wanted a man who would hold her in the same passionate regard as she held him.
“Ha,” she laughed, “as if such a man exists in the modern world.” But Brian didn’t come from the modern world. Was it foolish to hope for love to evolve between them? Could she even hope for a relationship that would blossom slowly, ripen from friendship to furious passion and love? She secretly wanted that. Yet she also suspected the modern era’s loose sexual mores would shock him and worried he’d find her desires too bold. He needed time to adjust, to accept his place in her world. And she wanted him to want her because he’d fallen in love—not because he needed someone to help navigate the crazy world where fate’s fickle hand had catapulted him. Besides, she needed to be certain he would not suddenly disappear through that capricious veil of time.
Brian’s virility, his tall, muscular build, and panther-like grace enthralled women everywhere they went. Despite being best friends, she knew Char would lay claim to him the moment she saw him, especially if Angel hadn’t declared her interest first. Yet, Brian hadn’t pursued her beyond those early heated exchanges. That left her questioning whether he even desired her in the same way. Perhaps their first passionate kisses were simply a form of blood-lust, a bit like battle-lust, a means to quell fear and anxiety after a terrifying event.
“Oh Angel, give it a rest. You're ridiculous!” She tugged on her boots, stomped out the door, and pounded down the back stairs.
“Brian, are you ready to go?” They might as well get this meeting with Char over before the woman charged the front door in a typically over-enthusiastic burst of seductive curiosity.